


Emotionless

by SapphyreLily



Series: Human Circuitry [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, finally a backstory for this au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 10:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: Kawanishi doesn't remember a time where he hasn't hated his emotions. And what better way to make use of the Program than to ask for them to be removed?





	Emotionless

**Author's Note:**

> First part is based on [this thread](https://twitter.com/snobadi_draws/status/858595428224217088)
> 
> The second part of this is based slightly on [Do You Love Me Too by Tessa Violet and Rusty Clanton](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9x0IWhxJXZU)
> 
> This got hella long oops

A click, a beep, soft whirring as his system boots up.

He opens his eyes, blinking slowly, waiting for his vision to focus.

(Sometimes, he wonders why he blinks at all. His eyes will focus on their own, there is no need for him to clear his vision by blinking.)

(Perhaps it is human reflex. Blinking is subconscious, and linked to the autonomic nervous system, after all.)

(You can’t remove the autonomic nervous system. You need it in order to function.)

(It’s a pity, he thinks. A big pity.)

He reaches back and unplugs himself from the port, slowly rising and going about his daily routine.

His schedule today is fairly clear. He has an appointment with the Clinic, a routine check-up. It will be quick, he believes. He has never done anything to resist, and that makes everything a lot smoother.

He briefly wonders what to do with the remainder of his day, and contemplates asking his brother out to lunch.

He may not have emotions, but he still knows which food tastes best.

The sun is dim as he leaves his apartment. The smog is particularly thick today, its red haze casting an interesting glow over the sidewalk.

\-----

He passes the security measures at the Clinic at a record slow – perhaps the receptionists are bored, and are trying to pass the time by doing their jobs more slowly.

It seems like a waste of effort, to him. They should do it more quickly, and spend the rest of their time staring into space or playing a game.

Perhaps that’s just him, but that is how he feels.

(Or thinks. He doesn’t feel.)

He goes to take a seat in the waiting area – it is moderately empty, with only a few people scattered about. He thinks he recognises some people – perhaps they were in the same class, from before the Programmers came.

He is about to take a seat in the most secluded corner when someone waves at him, beckons him over. He registers the person, thinks his eyebrows raise.

(Another reflex action.)

(No, a conditioned reflex.)

He goes over.

He takes a seat next to the person, offering a simple _Hello_ , but the person claps him strongly on the back, and he think he can feel the exuberance pouring from every pore next to him.

“Kawanishi! How’ve you been?”

He ought to smile – he thinks he does, but the person frowns at him, so he gives up with a sigh. “I’m alright, Yamagata-san. How have you been?”

“I’m fine,” the older frowns, “But what are you hiding?”

Is he? Hiding something? He didn’t think so.

“Why would you say that?”

“You grimaced when I asked you how you’ve been,” Yamagata points out, “And then you said you’re alright. Come on, you can tell me. What’s wrong?”

It’s funny, he thinks, that his expression and his thoughts can be such polar opposites. He should ask the Programmers how to fix it, how to pretend to be human.

“I’m fine. I’ll ask the Programmers. I thought I was smiling.”

“Hmm.” Yamagata doesn’t seem convinced, but he lets it go, moving on and telling him about all the things he’s seen recently. He nods along, listening attentively, but he’s not too interested. Interest is one of those things that got cut off when he got Reprogrammed. At least, that’s what they told him.

“…that’s what I’ve been up to. But hey, tell me about yourself. Why are you in here, anyway?”

“Routine check-up,” he replies automatically, lost in his thoughts – or at least, the sea of sparking circuits that might classify as thoughts. “How about you?”

“The same. I never got to ask though – what special adaptations did you ask for when you got Reprogrammed?”

He opens his mouth to reply, about to brush it off, about to deny asking for anything special, but then he thinks, _Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing if he knew. After all, the only person who knew has been Reset._

“I asked them to block my emotions.”

\-----

 _“You_ are _a curious one, aren’t you?”_

_The voice is cool, detached, unfeeling. He wonders what it would be like to enjoy that sort of detachment, that specific straightforwardness._

_He shrugs in response, the moment They remove Their probing appendages. “I just can’t be bothered. If you’re taking over the world anyway – we’re losing, I know from the news – I can either live or die. I think I’d prefer to live.”_

_He hears a whirring, coupled with a few clicks. He thinks that that may be Their form of laughter._

_“Oh, but you’re_ intelligent _too. How rare.”_

_He thinks he should feel offended, but he lost it all to the numbness, a while back. “Thank you.”_

_They tilt his head back, warm appendages resting at his temples, and he feels a little_ zing _as he is shocked. Their face is blank – of course it is, They have no features – but there is a lower whirring now, and he thinks it might be associated with the hum of a human in thought._

_Ah, but he is being anthropomorphic. Of course They are nothing like humans._

_“Kawanishi Taichi, would you like to work as a part of this facility, when we are done taking over your planet?”_

_He blinks at Them, a curious heat growing in the centre of his chest. “What’s in it for me?”_

_They make the whir-click sound again, and this time he doesn’t care that he’s being anthropomorphic – that definitely felt like a laugh._

_“Whatever you want.”_

\-----

Yamagata looks puzzled, but when he shows no change – how can he, really, when his emotions have been blocked? – he quickly turns pale, shock taking over. “You’re not joking.”

“No,” he agrees, softly, because it’s not something the rest of the waiting room needs to know. “I’m quite emotionless. Sorry.”

Yamagata regards him with something he might describe as horror – he can still link faces to emotions – before averting his gaze, breathing heavily.

He might be a bit more concerned, but all he feels is a void. “Yamagata-san?”

“Yamagata Hayato, room five.” He flicks his eyes up at the automated voice, feels a flutter in his chest that he recognises as irritation, but it is too late. Yamagata has stood, and is walking away.

He does not call after him.

\-----

_He wakes slowly, the world coming into blurry focus. A faceless mask stands over him, and he regards it with quiet detachment._

_Detachment._

Oh.

_The chair he is sitting in slowly moves up, and a mirror is placed before him. “Regard yourself.”_

_He looks, and sees no conceivable difference. He tells Them so._

_There is the rendition of Their laugh, and he feels his lips twitch, as if to smile._

_But his reflection remains impassive._

_“I feel nothing.”_

_“Then you are a success.”_

_He considers this, and finds it to be true. He thanks Them, for taking away the void and constant flux inside him, for making him unfeeling._

_“It is not a permanent process,” They state. “Unfortunately, to completely remove your emotions, most of your brain will have to be removed. That would render you dead or inoperative, making you of no use to us. Instead, we have implanted electrodes to block the synapses. You must come in for regular maintenance, to ensure that you remain as you do.”_

_He sees no issue with this._

_“Ah, and one more thing.”_

_One of the walls pulls away, revealing a familiar person encased in a pod, purple-tingled bio-bots running along his skin._

_“This is your brother.”_

\-----

He sits back in the chair in the room, eyes flicking over the surfaces.

It is no different from when he was last here, and the constant state of it soothes him.

“Kawanishi Taichi.”

He tilts his head back to regard Them, blinking his acknowledgement. Despite working with Them for so long, They remain a mystery – They seem wholly similar to each other, with neither differences in Their voice afflictions, nor in their monotonous masks.

“I have a problem.”

They come around to his side, placing Their appendages upon his temples. “Do share.”

(It’s funny, how Their manner of speech seems to be the only thing that distinguishes Them as individuals. He believes that this is the same Programmer who always does his check-ups, the one who offered him a job.)

(He’d like to think it is.)

“I seem unable to mimic a smile. An old acquaintance commented on it in the waiting room.”

“Ah, yes.” Their voice is unchanged. “Yamagata Hayato. He seemed quite distressed, in his pod.”

He blinks in response; he knows better than to move his head. “I told him about my lack of emotions. I don’t think he took it well.”

“He did not. He had to be sedated for his check-up.”

“Ah.”

He supposes he should be more concerned – Yamagata was close to him, before, and he still has a degree of respect for him.

(He calls it respect, but if he had his emotions, it might be more – so much more.)

“Lean back. I will switch your system off while running the mandatory checks.”

He reclines compliantly, eyes fluttering shut. He wonders if he remembered to send his brother a message to meet up for lunch.

\-----

_He peers at the pod, feels a question forming. “Brother?”_

_They nod, a human gesture They must have picked up, because this is the first time he has seen it from Them. “Companionship is important for humans, we have found. In order to keep you healthy whilst in isolation for the recovery of the overturning of systems, we have paired you up according to your past records of relationships.”_

_He feels the question falling out, with no filter in place, because his hesitancy is gone with his emotions. “What about Yamagata-san?”_

_They tilt Their head towards him. “I presume you are asking after Yamagata Hayato? We did not find that you were as close to him as you were to Shirabu Kenjirou.”_

_It makes an odd kind of sense to him. “I see. But will I be able to switch companions?”_

_He feels Their appendage come to rest on his shoulder – another human gesture, meant to be comforting. “I know you do not understand, but in time, you will work with us and see as we see. Shirabu Kenjirou put up a great resistance to the system upgrades – he is grievously injured, and we require a steady mind to keep him in place.”_

_His heart feels weird, but he finds no logical reason to disagree. “Alright.”_

_The appendage squeezes lightly. “One last thing._

_“You are the only one allowed to call him by his first name, as brothers._

_“Anyone else who does so may loosen the grip of the Programming on his mind._

_“And that is a secret, from us to you.”_

\-----

He awakens, and feels disoriented. His head is pounding, and he feels a heavy dread leaning on his heart.

_No._

_No._

_This can’t be happening._

A familiar touch is on his forehead, and he relaxes, despite himself. For the first time, he feels a bubble of amusement as the thought rises.

_Classical conditioning._

Then the panic is back.

“Unfortunately, the electrodes are corroded, and must be replaced. You will have to go a few days without them, until the swelling in your brain decreases, and I will replace a new set for you.”

He can feel his breathing quicken, panic spiralling into terror.

_No, no, no no no–_

Again, the warm appendages across his forehead, gently brushing his hair back. He feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, his heart aching and tearing at how careful They are being.

He hates his emotions. He misses the numb unfeelingness already.

“You are distressed.”

He can’t even speak, his throat is too torn up with the need to scream, cry. But a whimper makes it past his lips, and he is ashamed to feel the tears sliding down his cheeks.

He hates them, and he wants out.

_I'm so hopeless hopeless hopeless, why am I like this, why can’t I control myself, why can’t I feel less, why why WHY–_

He feels a prick in his arm, hears soft whirring as his system shuts down.

He falls into the darkness gratefully.

\-----

_He learns many things while working at the Clinic, though They wouldn’t let him help with the procedures for the longest time._

_It doesn’t faze him, because he is learning so much – even contributing his own ideas on how to better lead the human subjugates._

_They grow to like him, or that’s what he believes. Some days, he learns secrets that would shock him, if he still had his emotions._

_“On some humans, we place a Program strong enough to override their human consciousness. Some of them do not have this.”_

_“Is there a way that you pick these people? Or is it random, as part of an experiment?”_

_They make the low whir, the one he still associates with thinking. “It was first done to control the humans who were particularly strong-willed and resisting conversion. But an experiment would be interesting.”_

_He sees his opening, and jumps in with another idea._

_“If you select randomly for an experiment, you can start with a strong Program that completely hides their personality, and slowly remove its influence when they no longer resist. They will respond more strongly if presented with the same set of stimuli. Or you can start with a small, light Program, and turn up the intensity when they resist. The idea is to be able to apply a light touch after the ‘training’, and yet receive results.”_

_“You have interesting ideas for turning against your own kind.”_

_He shrugs. “I learnt it in class, but never had a chance to apply it. One's called learned helplessness, and the other, negative reinforcement.”_

_There is the thoughtful hum again, and then appendages are on his head, messing up his hair. He knows They mean it as a sign of affection – it is a 'human thing', apparently._

_“You may learn another secret, for this.”_

_He barely has to think before he asks, “Does Kenjirou have a strong Program? It doesn’t seem so, but you said that he resisted.”_

_“Shirabu Kenjirou is an odd one. Because of the extensive damage to his body, further damage to his brain with a strong Program would compromise his chances of survival.”_

_“So he doesn’t have one.”_

_“No. The Program welded to him is only to help him regain a normal human lifestyle. If there are any effects that allude to his Program being stronger than it is, it would be welcome. If not, it would still be viable to allow him to continue as he is.”_

_He thinks on that – it would be an interesting thing, to observe on his own. “Thank you. I would observe him for any changes.”_

_“You are a good scientist.”_

_“I am what you made me.”_

_“True and false.” Their voice is softer than normal, a tone he’d describe as 'fond' – as fond as any unfeeling being can be. “You are what your human biochemistry made you. The Program only enhances what it can already find.”_

_He bobs his head. “Thank you.”_

_“You are welcome. Come. There are new things for you to learn.”_

_It leaves for the next pod, and he follows._

\-----

He wakes again, and there is a cup of water beside him. He takes it, downs it quickly, and tries to breathe.

He knows how to utilise to Program to hide and numb his feelings. He knows he can hold off for a few days while his human half recovers, but it will be difficult. The hormones suppressed when the electrodes were implanted would now be flowing freely, wreaking havoc on his body.

Earning his place among Them means that he has the least regulated Program, and is thus least conditioned to oppressive touch of the commands – if there are any commands embedded in his Program at all.

But he can do it. He can. He just needs to try.

(It’s not impossible to force his body into submission.)

(The mere thought of putting in that much effort makes him nauseous.)

He can feel the anxiety rising again, and in spite of himself, his hand rises, encircling his neck, fingers pressing on the pulse on either side.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

The beat is slow and steady, at odds with the constricting feeling in his chest. He exhales deeply, letting his hand fall slack, twisting it to cup the back of his neck in case anyone is watching.

(But of course there is. There is always someone watching.)

“Your actions are most interesting.”

He twists to regard the voice, a flutter of recognition in his chest. “It is habit.”

“Indeed? Do explain.”

“Taking my pulse helps me calm down, and I hide it by rubbing my neck.”

“Is it not unusual to your fellow humans?”

He shrugs, resignation twisting his lips. “They believe I do it because of my allergies.”

A low whir-click. “You are extremely perceptive.”

He slumps against the seat, laughing lowly. It sounds like a choked sob. “Social anxiety does that to you.”

“Your human complexities are most unusual.”

“Yeah. I know.” He keeps his gaze on the floor, his clothes, his hands – anywhere but at Them. “Would you like to measure my brain activity to find the root of it?”

“As much as I would enjoy that, it is not possible. I have already mentioned the swelling in your brain.”

“Ah.” He slumps, crushing defeat laying into him.

_A pity._

What he would give, to be able to find out why he is like this.

There is a light touch of appendages on his shoulder, brief, maybe reassuring, before it flits away. “You are excused from your duties for the next few days. Recover your strength, and when you are yourself, we will continue the work.”

He exhales shakily, nodding. He recognises the dismissal, and tries to hold back the sense of hopelessness.

\-----

He is trudging back to his apartment – halfway there, when he gets a call, and he stares at it for too long before responding.

“Hello?”

_“Taichi, I thought we were going to meet up! Where are you?”_

His eyes flick to the time on his retinal screen. _Ah. I must have sent that message after all._

“Just got out of the Clinic. Be there soon.”

_“Fine. Hurry up.”_

A _click_ as the call ends, and he turns around, opening up his messages to find the destination.

He finds it, and sits on the train, waiting too long before opening the pulsing message in his inbox, the one marked with _New_ and _Yamagata-san._

\-----

_“Hey, sorry for the way I reacted earlier. That was too much of me. Do you want to meet up? The old coffee place by Shiratorizawa… It’s still open. Let me know.”_

He thinks for too long, bumps into too many people, doesn’t offer his apologies. It’s only when Shirabu bounds up to him without a scowl on that he snaps back into himself, making a rash decision.

_“I’ll be there. Date and time? I’m free for the next week.”_

\-----

He feels too much – nervousness and apprehension and anxiety, but _It’s just coffee, it’s not a date, don’t think so much, stop worrying_ – he can’t stop thinking.

For the umpteenth time, he wishes he didn’t have feelings.

_Six more days, six more days, six more days…_

The sound of a chair being pulled out makes him look up, and his heart skips a beat when he sees the person sitting across from him. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Yamagata looks sheepish; it’s reflected in his crooked grin, the furrow of his brow, the tilt of his eyes. “How are you?”

“Peachy.” He thinks he detects a note of sourness in his voice, but Yamagata laughs, and the sound does things to his traitorous body.

(His hand tightens in his hair, his breath hitches, his mouth tries to turn up – and his heart, that terrible, pumping organ, it squeezes so tightly that he feels a little faint.)

(He’d forgotten what it was like, to have this much affection for somebody.)

“Can I ask why?” Yamagata sets his arms on the table, one hand propping his chin up. The action is completely ordinary, but his eyes follow his every move, thirstily drinking it in.

He hates that he feels this way, that everything is overwhelming and new. Stupid hormones.

Aloud he says, “Order a drink first? We can talk while we wait.”

He’s stalling, but it’ll give him time to prepare what he wants to say.

(He needs every second, because there’s no telling when he’ll fall in a slump.)

(He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want Yamagata to think any less of him.)

(Who’s to say he doesn’t already think less of him?)

\-----

Coffee is an odd thing for them to have, because some can, and some can’t.

It depends on how much you’ve been Reprogrammed.

He drinks it easily, but Yamagata needs the watered-down version, and watching him frown sadly at his cup makes him feel guilty and amused.

He knows better – of course he does, he knows how caffeine can affect the Program – but he slides his cup over, surreptitiously switching them. Yamagata looks at him, opens his mouth, but he places a finger on his lips, a faint smile tugging at them.

His heart skips when Yamagata reaches for the cup, mouthing his thanks.

(As he curses his feelings for the millionth time, a line comes to mind.)

( _Absence makes the heart grow fonder._ )

(He half-resents that it is true.)

(All his feelings came flooding back, rising to the surface, when the electrodes were removed.)

_(Stupid hormones.)_

“So,” Yamagata cups the paper cup in his hands, the steam a veil for his face. “Why are you in a bad mood?”

“I'm not in a bad mood.” He can almost see his appearance change with his words – his default pulled down into the frown of his irritated mask, his tone soured with a whine.

“No, I suppose not,” the older muses. “Can you be in a bad mood, if your emotions are gone? Just curious.”

He starts a little – before remembering, _He doesn’t know._

A pause, a little thought rising to the surface.

_It can’t hurt to tell him._

**_Yes, it can._ **

He lifts his cup – Yamagata's cup – to stall, to let the two sides of his brain argue. But the other's gaze is piercing, and his emotions win, letting the truth spill out.

“No, you can’t. But I’ve got mine back for the week.”

Yamagata chokes, but he’s recovered before he can offer help, covering his mouth with a napkin and laughing.

“You sound like a father. 'My kids are back for the weekend',” he snickers. “But really? You’ve got your emotions back? Didn’t you just get a check-up?”

He feels like he smiles – how foreign, yet familiar it is, this action. “There is a problem with the parts that block my emotions. I’ve got them back until the parts can be replaced.”

“I thought those guys always had spares.”

“They do.” He swirls the liquid in his cup, almost thoughtfully. “It’s my brain – it can’t take the surgery now. It needs to recover a little.”

“Good.”

He sits back a little, taken aback by the ferocity of Yamagata’s reply.

The brunet looks up at him, showing off his teeth. “How long till you get them back?”

“I– About a week?”

“Not enough time,” he mutters, but his eyes flick up, and he sees the determination in them. “But it’ll do.”

“Senpai, what are you–”

“A week,” he interrupts, fingers clutching the cup so tightly that it begins to crumple. “I’ll change your mind in a week.

“I don’t know why you wanted to get rid of your emotions, but I have a week to show you that they are worth keeping. Will you let me?”

He’s more than taken aback – he’s stunned, fresh out of words.

_He cares?_

**_Maybe._ **

He can feel the war beginning in him anew, and refuses to let it have its way.

“Do your worst.”

\-----

“Where are we going?”

It’s not an odd thing to ask, he feels, because the world as they know it has changed so much – landscapes re-sculpted, buildings torn down, refashioned for a different use. Some things have remained, some have fallen away, and with their tightly regulated schedules, it’s almost impossible to find the time to map out their new world.

Yamagata grins. “When was the last time you went to an amusement park?”

He feels his heart skip a beat, before it starts thrumming with excitement. “There’s still one around?”

“Yep. You just gotta know where to find them.” He winks surreptitiously, and Kawanishi feels himself relax in the familiarity of it.

“But are they working?”

Yamagata shrugs. “I’m an engineer, I can rig them to work.”

He nods slowly, before another thought occurs to him. “You don’t have to work today?”

Another grin, but this one is spiced with mischievousness. “I had enough points to buy the whole week off.”

He feels mildly alarmed at that. “Yamagata-san, you didn’t have to–”

“But I _want_ to,” the older interrupts, leaning forward, eyes sharp. “Don’t tell me how I’m wasting my points, because I want to spend them on you.”

His heart flutters. “Is it really on me, though? You could do anything with your free week.”

Yamagata shakes his head. “Not anything. I said I’d change your mind about your emotions, and I _will_.”

He sounds so fierce, so determined, unwavering and confident, that in that moment, he begins to believe that he can.

\-----

The amusement park is dusty and abandoned, but not completely cleared out – there are parts of rides that have not been broken off for reuse, and it is a small adventure to find the intact ones.

He peers into a small, darkened theatre, trying to make out the faded sign. “Elmo’s spaghetti ride?”

Yamagata comes up behind him, snorting at it. “Is it in one piece?”

“I think so?”

“Let’s go check it out then.”

He brushes past him into the theatre, ducking under dusty railings, working his way to the control panel.

He follows more slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, looking at the dusty ramp and railings. He can almost see the lines of people queueing for this ride, bored parents and excited children, chattering and shrieking and jumping, too thrilled to be on an adventure.

A burst of sound makes him jump, hand clutching the railing desperately, but then it continues smoothly, and blue and white lights begin to flash, and there’s a screech as metal begins to move.

“Oi, Kawanishi, hurry up! It works!”

He bites back his words, trying to calm his racing heart, wiping his hand on his pants as he goes over to join him. Yamagata's already stepped away from the control panel, his expression exceedingly pleased. “I think it’s a kid’s ride, so the cars would be a tight squeeze.”

He shakes his head, a smile pinching his lips. “No matter. Shall we?”

“Heck yes.”

They hop into a moving car, him in the front row, Yamagata behind, and the ride crawls forwards, dragging them into the depths of a kid’s wonderland.

They stumble back into the dusty sunlight five minutes later, Yamagata complaining and gushing about the ride and the mostly intact decorations in the same breath. He lets him ramble, feet taking him down the next stretch of pathway, mildly amused by his observations and his own thoughts.

“–it was very interesting, though. Haven’t seen anything like that in a while.”

“I agree.” His murmur is soft, even as he steps into another half-blocked entrance. “But it was a kid’s ride. How about something for the older children?”

Yamagata steps up beside him, arm brushing his, and he tries to suppress the tingle down his spine. “Transformers?”

“I think I recall a review for it. It’s a 4D show.”

“That’s cool.” Yamagata declares. He flicks a finger at the tunnel and a light shines out of his fingertip, lighting the musky gloom. “Let’s see if it works.”

“It’s in a building, it should be preserved.” He hurried after him and his bobbing light, noting the faint decorations on the wall under the sheen of dust.

“Preserved doesn’t mean that the effects will work alright, though. But we’ll see.”

They clamber over and under numerous railings, up steps and forcing once-automatic doors open, ducking round corners with their footsteps echoing off the walls.

He feels a sense of dread creeping up on him, its withered fingers grasping and crushing his heart. “It’s really dark, isn’t it?”

His voice wobbles, and he hates himself for it, but he can’t help it, he can’t help the irrational fear of what might be hidden in the corners that he can’t see.

Yamagata keeps flicking his light over the walls. “Maybe there’s a switch box here and I can turn the lights on.”

“Maybe.”

His companion looks back then, scrutinising him, then beckons him forward. “You’ve got a light too, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“As long as you’ve had the upgrade, you should have one. Find the flashlight option and select it.”

He tries to find it, and does, but before he can activate it, a hand wraps around his, lifting it and placing it on a shoulder. Yamagata grins at him, his hand still sandwiching his fingers on his shoulder. “Hold on to me. You’re too quiet, I might lose you in here.”

He nods dumbly, struck speechless, heart beating erratically. He squeezes his shoulder in a show of understanding, and is rewarded by another grin before Yamagata turns back to navigating.

His flashlight is a little shaky, but his companion does not comment.

The darkened hallways are eerie and he thinks he might be squeezing Yamagata’s shoulder a little too tightly. The older doesn’t mention it, though his pace speeds up a little, flashlight flicking over the walls, lighting up artefacts that are on display – probably placed there to build tension as the tourists waited in line.

“Isn’t this cool?” Yamagata breathes, highlighting plans on the walls, pointing out the plastic Allspark protected within glass. “I wish the monitors and tapes were working, that would have made it so much better.”

“I never watched Transformers,” Kawanishi admits softly, eyes lingering too long on some of the robotic eyes. “I have no idea what an Allspark is.”

“You are missing out on so much,” Yamagata tuts. “Tomorrow we’ll stay in and watch the entire series.”

“Doesn’t it seem a bit ironic, though?”

“Hmm?”

“A franchise about robots, when we have robotic parts ourselves?”

“Maybe,” his senior concedes, a little sombrely. “But it might help us understand our robotic sides better.”

Kawanishi knows better, but says nothing as he points out the next pathway to take.

It doesn’t take much longer to get to the front of the lines, though he isn’t sure he’s convinced about its safety, what with the written warnings on the walls.

“Did you see any 4D glasses?”

“I think we passed some baskets on our way here…”

“Right. I’ll go check those. Wait for me.”

Yamagata disappears before he can say anything, and he is left sweeping his flashlight across the gloomy room, over more railings and the painted lines on the floor, every surface caked with dust.

The room itself is bare, but he thinks he can make out the stopped cars and tracks beyond the control booth, and some dark bins near what he assumes is the exit. Struck with a sudden idea, he moves to the bins and shines his light in. The light reflected back at him makes him squint, so he dims the light and re-examines it, pleasantly surprised to find a mountain of spectacles.

He pulls the cover off and fishes two pairs out, blowing on them to dislodge the dust. The resulting cloud makes him cough, and he backs away, wheezing.

_Damn allergies._

He wipes the glasses on his pants as he makes his way back to his original spot, just in time to hear Yamagata call to him. “I can’t find them, the baskets were empty–”

He holds out one pair to him, still choking a little, and even in the dimness, he can see his expression light up. “Where’d you get them?”

Kawanishi points over his shoulder at the bin, wheezing. “Very dusty.”

Yamagata takes the glasses from him, but instead of sliding them on, he places them on top of his head, reaching for the bottle hanging from his belt. “Here, have some water.”

He tries to wave it away, but the dust is still stuck in his throat, and he can barely hold his own as Yamagata pulls him down, forcing the bottle to his lips.

The trickle of liquid is cool and immediately soothing, though he has to push him away to cough up the remnants of the dust. Yamagata looks ready to attack him with the bottle, but he holds up a hand, trying to clear his lungs.

A minute of solid wheezing, and he straightens, trying to collect himself, not refusing the offer of water this time. “Thank you.”

The brunet pats him on the arm and tells him to drink up. “I’ll see if this thing’s working.”

He obliges.

He sits on the floor despite the layer of grit on it, and watches as Yamagata forces his way into the booth, pressing and clicking and flipping switches. He thinks he hears an engine revving up somewhere, and a disembodied voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“I think it’s working!”

Kawanishi stands and makes his way over, trying not to show how frazzled he is by all the sudden noises. “Do you think it’s safe?”

Yamagata shrugs. “Even if it isn’t, the worst thing that could happen is that we have to call for help and get our privileges revoked.”

“Or we could die.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s not a rollercoaster, we won’t die.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” Yamagata grins up at him, the 4D glasses sliding off and falling onto his nose. “But at worst, we’d have to call the Programmers to come save us.”

“Is there a best situation out of this?”

Yamagata pretends to think. “We live.”

“That’s optimistic,” he comments drily.

“You can be the pessimistic one, I’ll be the optimistic one. Come on, let’s go!”

Yamagata presses what he assumes is the start button, and tugs him towards the moving cars. They throw themselves into the front seat and pull the bar over their knees, missing half of the commentary from the car.

Then they’re off, alarms blaring, the car turning too fast, the urgent urging of the Autobot in his ear.

He forgets he’s not wearing the glasses until they reach the first screen, and hurriedly slides them onto his face, jabbing himself in the ear in his hurry.

He doesn’t understand the storyline, but the appearance of more robotic humanoids and animals makes him jump, the imagery enhanced by the glasses.

Beside him, Yamagata is strangely quiet, but he can’t look away to check on him; the story has him captivated, if only by fear instead of wonder.

The Decepticon on the screen points a missile at them, and it comes towards them in slow motion, the heat building up, slowly, almost touching them–

They’re flying.

He hears Yamagata scream, and the heat on his face is too much, too close. He beats at the flames, only to yelp as he is burnt.

His head hits the headrest of the chair painfully, but it doesn’t register; his attention is focused on the burning front of the car, and on the bar that is quickly heating up.

“Kawanishi!”

He turns too fast to see his figure, grey-ringed and blurry.  The glasses are ripped off his face and tossed into the flames, eyesight returning in the face of flames licking closer.

The bar is still on their knees, and he is beginning to feel the heat through his pants.

Yamagata howls as the metal touches him, and he snaps out of it, eyes sharp, roving, taking in the situation at hand.

_Chemical fire? Don’t breathe in the smoke, quick get out of here. Call the Programmers, call the fire brigade._

“Don’t just talk to yourself, help me!”

He didn’t realise he was talking out loud.

His hands slap under the bar, lifting it, gasping as it sears his skin. “Can you get out?”

Yamagata shakes his head, and it’s in slow motion – head slowly moving, sweat beading on his face, muscles straining against the mechanism.

_It must be rusted._

“Probably? _Help me_.”

Kawanishi slides further under the bar and twists his body, using his hip as a lever, hoping to lift the bar. It budges just a little, and Yamagata tries to squeeze out, gritting his teeth.

He pushes harder against the bar, while blinking at his retinal screen, tapping out the emergency number.

_Connect, connect, connect, please._

“Kawanishi, push a bit more and stop talking to yourself!”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, turning to press his entire leg against the bar, putting all his weight into it. He hisses in pain, and thinks he hears Yamagata cursing, missing the disembodied voice in his ear.

_“Emergency centre, please state your problem…”_

“Send coordinates. Fire at my location. Help, please.” He is out of breath already, smoke filling the small space they are in, the flames consuming their oxygen.

He doesn’t know if his message got through, because the heat against his thigh is agony, and he falls away from the bar.

_“Taichi, please.”_

His eyes snap up at his name, a tingle going over his skin. His senior in a most awkward position, legs halfway out of the bars, arms straining, face twisted. The flames outline the streaks of black on his face, and he can see the slick red covering his hands, and the dullness of his charred skin.

His gapes, mouths unheard words, reaches out.

He never reaches him.

A huge explosion throws them back again, the car flipping over and over. The sensation of weightlessness, legs hanging in the air, the darkened tunnel floating by.

Then impact, his head cracking back, legs bending unnaturally, ribs smashing into a hard surface. His breath is knocked out of him, and he can’t see, can’t hear, nary a breath able to make it past his crushed windpipe.

His hands press against the surfaces leaning on him, but he can’t lift them, he has no strength, and even the heat doesn’t register. His vision is black, but there’s a tiny white light pulsing in the upper right corner of his screen, the only thing he can see.

He wants to reach for it, but his chest is tight, no air can reach him, and his arms are too weak to support him any longer.

If this is death, he wishes it wasn’t so painful.

\-----

He gasps as he is yanked into the light, but something is holding him back, holding him down. He looks around wildly, vision skimming over things, not registering anything except blinding white.

There is a wild beeping coming from somewhere, and he can’t breathe again. There’s something sitting on his chest, heavy, compressing, painful to the point of black spots in his vision, mouth flapping but drawing in nothing.

Something floats into the edge of his vision, but he can’t see it, he just wants to get away–

Warm points rest on his temples, a shock going through him. He falls back against a soft surface, wheezing, but still no oxygen enters his lungs.

The warmth moves to his chest, pressing gently, and he focuses on it, still dizzy.

“Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.”

He follows it, feeling his chest rise and fall, cool air scraping his throat and nose, bringing tears to his eyes.

_It hurts._

“Breathe. Do not talk.”

He keeps thinking out loud, and gasps a laugh, the situation oddly funny to him.

“What is so funny?”

He can’t get enough oxygen to reply, and takes a shuddering breath, trying to quell the dizziness in his brain.

“I keep… Talking… Aloud.”

“I do not understand.”

He shakes his head, letting it drop back on the bed, suddenly exhausted. _Can’t explain_.

“Rest. I shall shut your systems down again.”

He closes his eyes, the blurry world disappearing, and hears the whir as he descends into unconsciousness.

\-----

He wakes again, but this time he is not alone, the Programmer already present.

They turn to him, emitting a gentle whir. “You are awake.”

“I am.”

“Tell me what happened.”

He does not question it, but simply repeats the story, of how they entered the amusement park, of how an explosion almost killed them. As he speaks, he flexes his fingers, looks down at himself. He’s unsurprised to find that his skin is clear and whole, with no mark of their misfortune anywhere. The fire seems almost like a bad dream, the pain a faded nightmare.

(He tells the tale, but doesn’t mention how it started because Yamagata wanted to change his mind.)

They click repeatedly, appendages fluttering. “You humans are oddly reckless for a species so fragile.”

He almost smiles. “You’re not wrong. Can I know what caused the explosion?”

They laugh. “You are never distracted. It never ceases to amaze.”

“Thank you.”

“There were some faulty lines and the heat from that particular part of the tunnel reacted badly with the dust in it. A massive explosion followed.”

“Ah. What about our injuries?”

“Several burns, concussions, and your wiring has been severely damaged. You were projecting thoughts outwards for several days.”

“That’s curious.”

“Indeed.”

“Is Yamagata-san okay?”

“Yamagata Hayato is mostly intact. He requires several replacement parts, but it seems that he has no points to pay for them.”

Kawanishi stops breathing.

He had forgotten about that.

“Can… Can I give some of my points to him?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“He… He spent his points, to take the week off. To spend time with me.”

“I do not comprehend how that is related to you wanting to give your points to him.”

He takes a deep breath, inhale shaky. “If he didn’t spend his points for that time off, he would be able to pay for the replacements. But I’m the reason why he doesn’t have any, so I want to compensate for paying for his replacements.”

“You have an odd way of thinking about it. It was his choice.”

“Yes, but I still feel guilty.” He looks at Them with his most unguarded expression. “Allow me this indulgence. It’s a human trait to want to fix your wrongdoing.”

“I see no wrongdoing.”

_“Please.”_

They whir for an extended period, not answering, appendages smoothing over the screens that mark his body’s state. Finally, They speak. “Is this sudden outburst an effect of having your emotions back?”

Kawanishi looks at Them, gaping slightly. “Perhaps?” He tries. “I’m not sure, myself.”

“Most curious.” They tap on the screen a few more times. “Very well. I will have it arranged.”

“You– You would?”

He almost can’t believe his ears. This is almost _kind_.

“You are one of our most valued humans,” They disclose, but Kawanishi already knows this. “It is in our best interests to keep you around by any means possible.”

He almost smiles, because he knows that can’t be the whole truth. They don’t need him, not really.

“I thought I would be more of an experiment to you. These observations, now that I have my emotions back, are priceless.”

They make Their odd laugh, appendages touching his shoulder lightly. “You are correct. Giving in to your demands is hardly an action we want to encourage, especially amongst your peers.”

He rolls his eyes, but the underhanded compliment makes him smile all the same.

\-----

He wakes up gasping, fire and screams and dust on his mind. His fingers reach up, press on his jugular veins, testing the pressure, measuring the beat.

His pulse is a little fast, faint and throbbing, and he takes a shuddering breath, forcing himself to calm down.

His skin is overheated, and he can feel his system trying to cool him down, though tiny shivers roll over his skin, setting his hairs on end.

_Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream._

He reaches for his messages without thinking, and then there is a window with _Are you okay?_ before his eyes, waiting to be sent.

He deletes the draft, and lies back down, trying to calm himself.

He feels cold flood his veins, and tilts his head back to see the port flash red, a system message informing him that he will be forcibly relaxed for his safety.

His vision wavers, but he can’t disagree. He’d rather have the blackness than the memory.

\-----

His fingers are shaking, but he doesn’t need them to type. The words appear and disappear on his retinal screen, and his heart throbs so painfully that he has to press his hand against his ribcage.

He can’t stop worrying that the words aren’t enough, that they don’t convey his sincerity sufficiently.

He has to stop worrying.

He bites his lip and clicks _Send._

_“Hey, it’s me. I know your week of free time is almost over, but can I come visit? To apologise in person?”_

He worries for the entire day and then some, anxiety mounting into an unstable tower, precarious and fit to fall–

The blinking white light makes him scared, too scared. He doesn’t want to open it, but he does, eventually.

He almost can’t bear to read it.

_“Come visit, but not to apologise. It wasn’t your fault. Didn’t you want to watch Transformers?”_

The band around his chest loosens, just a little.

_“That was all you. But I’ll come. What time?”_

\-----

Yamagata’s apartment is small, made seemingly smaller by the clutter in it. Finding clear spaces to put his feet is a tiny game he plays, and smiles sheepishly when he is caught.

His senior only shakes his head at him, flopping onto the tiny couch, pushing a stack of books off to make space for him. “Come on. I’ve got it all ready.”

He sits gingerly, completely caught off guard when a cushion is slammed into his chest. Yamagata grins at him, points out the glass of water at his elbow, and presses _Play._

And they watch.

It’s really boring at first – he’s never really been one for movies – but then the plot pieces itself together and he leans in, devouring the storyline, absorbing the fight scenes and the adrenaline rush of it all.

(Faintly, he makes out his systems trying to cool him down and return him to a normal homeostatic state, but pays it no mind.)

Then the first movie is over, and he sits back, mildly dissatisfied.

Yamagata laughs, and he starts. He had forgotten he was there.

“You love it,” the older declares confidently, knocking shoulders with him. “Want to start the second one?”

He doesn’t deny it, and doesn’t hold back the feeling in his words.

_“Yes please.”_

\-----

He doesn’t know how many hours pass with them watching all the movies. All he knows is the press of Yamagata’s shoulder beside his, his snorts of laughter during the funny scenes, his cursing whenever the characters do something impossibly stupid. All he knows is the number of glasses of water he’s drunk (twenty-three), the number of bathroom trips he’s made (eight), and the single time they paused the movie to get takeout.

And he doesn’t know, he’s not sure, but he thinks that he’s enjoying himself. He thinks he remembers this joy, and he likes it.

It seems that their time together is over much too soon, even though they sit for an hour after and argue over the movies' plot points.

“They’re dragging this on for way too long.”

“Nonsense. They even got a new character in for the fourth movie. Robots don’t die.”

“But if you take out their spark…?”

“They don’t die of old age, I mean.”

“Doesn’t that make you wonder, how their joints remain smooth without anyone to oil them?”

“Probably some kind of self-lubrication? It'd be interesting to build one.”

“But to give it that sort of self-awareness, you’d still need–”

“–an Allspark. It'd be a cool concept though, to make giant robots that lasting.”

“Aren’t we sort of robots too?”

“Just because we have circuitry? No, not in my opinion. Even the young ones are born fully human, and get the upgrades as they grow.”

“Are we enhanced humans, then?”

“I think that’s your speciality.” Yamagata grins crookedly, and he has to suppress a smile of his own. “You’re the one who works with Them.”

“You're not supposed to know that,” he reminds him.

“You told me.” The brunet shrugs. “I won’t mention it to others, of course, but within closed walls, all bets are off.”

Kawanishi almost laughs. “Walls have ears.”

“The Programmers know all,” Yamagata shoots back. “And if they haven’t Reset me for knowing this, then it’s fine.”

He remembers who has been Reset, and tries not to cringe. “Yeah. It’ll be fine.”

(They keep Their promises. Yamagata is to be spared, for him.)

It is too late, too dark to return to his own apartment, so when Yamagata asks him to stay, he does.

He does, and even after plugging into the port (he had brought a spare cable, in case), they lie awake, quietly arguing.

(He doesn’t know what they’re arguing about, but focuses on the purple glow of his skin. Focuses on the tingle where their hands meet.)

Their hands spark when brushed together, a side effect of being plugged in. They regard each other over the bursts of light, the little fireworks reflecting in their eyes.

All is dark around them, silent except for the gentle hum of the port.

He can’t take it any longer, and opens his mouth to speak – two voices chime at once.

“Yamagata-san.”

“Hey, Kawanishi.”

They stare at each other over the glow and sparks, a small laugh from one, a smile from the other.

“You first.”

He pulls his hand back, suddenly unspeakably nervous as he thinks about what he must say, fingers twisting together.

“I’m sorry that we got into that explosion. If I hadn’t suggested that ride, we wouldn’t have gotten into that sort of trouble–”

A large spark as Yamagata slams his hands atop his twitching ones, and the look in his eyes is almost murderous.

“Don’t apologise. You got us out of that, you know.”

“But if we could have avoided it in the first place–”

“Stop.” His hand tightens around both of his. “You called for help. I know you passed out from the second explosion, so you didn’t see, but it wasn’t only the ambulance that came. The Programmers came for us Themselves.”

_“That makes it worse.”_

“Well, it was pretty damn scary,” Yamagata admits. “But why would They have come if not for you? I’m definitely not high on Their list.”

“I still don’t see how Their coming is a good thing.”

“It means,” Yamagata sighs, “That you are important enough to be monitored by Them, and that They are concerned for your safety. I don’t think anyone else is so special. You sent up a distress call, and They came. If you weren’t the one to send the call, we might have been dead by the time the response team arrived.

“So _stop apologising._ The explosion was not your fault, the idea of going there wasn’t your fault – it was mine.” His hand squeezes his, and his voice is soft. “I’m sorry I put us in danger. Thank you for saving our lives.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but Yamagata covers his mouth with his free hand. “I believe only the best of you, and nothing can shake that belief, alright? Learn to forgive yourself. It wasn’t your fault, and I don’t blame you.”

He searches his eyes but sees no lie in them, nodding slowly. Yamagata removes his hand, and he slumps, dissent still swirling in him, but some of his burden has been lifted.

It feels like they’re drifting apart in the ensuing silence, falling away into their own worlds. He wants to reach out again, but doesn’t know if it’s alright to, so he holds his tongue.

(There’s a hummingbird trapped in his chest, tiny thrumming terror, speeding away. He feels like a tightened cable, strung tight enough to break–)

A curious whisper in the dark. “Kawanishi?”

(The tension snaps, and he jumps.)

“Yes?”

Yamagata leans in again, and their shoulders spark where they meet. “Do you remember when we used to play volleyball?”

He feels himself softening at the memory. How could he forget?

“Yes.”

Yamagata pokes his hand, eyes lighting up at the spark. But even the brightest sparks won’t stop him for long, and he props his chin on his hand, tilting his head.

(He looks unbothered, calm, and it’s like their earlier altercation never happened.)

(He hides his relieved exhale, nervousness seeping out, calm trickling back in.)

(He’s still antsy, but he wants to remember their time together fondly.)

A long beat of silence, then Yamagata reaches out with his free hand, a shimmer of sparks trailing over his knuckles. “Do you wonder what could have happened, if They never came?”

Speculation isn’t encouraged, especially of past things, but he hedges forward. He knows how to derail the conversation if it seems like it would insult Them.

(Never insult Them. Not unless you want to be Reset.)

“We'd have finished school. You’d be a third year and I’d be a second year, and we'd go to Nationals like every year and kick their asses.”

Yamagata smiles at the image, fingers mindlessly tapping along Kawanishi’s hand. “Maybe it is like that, in another universe.”

“Do you believe in that? Other universes?”

“There hasn’t been anything to prove that they don’t exist.” His hand drops, but his fingers never stop moving; the pads of them stroking over his skin. Kawanishi finds it oddly soothing.

“If we once thought that aliens were a myth, but the Programmers came to us, who’s to say that there isn’t another universe out there that we grew up and went to Nationals?”

He has no answer to that.

Eventually, they lie back on the mattress, arms too sore to hold them up. It’s a little cramped for two full-grown men, but sufficient. They don’t speak, but lie in the almost-dark, breathing out of sync, eyelids growing heavier.

“Don’t forget to power off.” He whispers it into the purple haze.

“On the count of three?” The softest, lightest reply, like powder on moths’ wings.

“Sure.”

Their fingers are still touching when they reach back with their free hands, and their systems' whirring dies off.

\-----

_The world around him is drab and grey, with only the slightest tinge of colour. He thinks he’s dreaming._

_It’s hot outside, he knows. Hotter than in here – it’s a gym, he thinks – the sun reflecting off the ground and blinding him. He peeks out anyway, trying to open his eyes past the glare, trying to see beyond the searing white._

_Sounds come into focus behind him, rhythmic_ thumps _and_ squeaks _, calls of people to each other._

_A clap on his back and he twists round – no one’s there. But something shifts and his gaze drops, finding the amused eyes of someone familiar._

_“Come on. Time to practice receives.”_

_The boy twines their fingers and tugs him along, and he feels his hand acutely – the callouses on his palm, the little bump on one of his fingers from holding a pen, the enveloping heat that warms his fingers first, then hand and arm and heart._

_He remembers._

_The spiky-haired boy turns back to him. “What are you smiling about?”_

_He presses his lips together, feels the soreness of his cheeks – so he_ was _smiling. He looks back at this boy – the one who is familiar yet not, whose name he knows but can’t remember in this moment._

_“Your hand is warm,” he tells him, and the other rolls his eyes._

_“You lose heat too fast. But that’s all right.”_

_He wants to nod, wants to agree, but his heart is growing warmer, and all he can do is smile._

_Ah. This feeling. It’s–_

\-----

A click, a beep, soft whirring as his system boots up.

He opens his eyes, blinking slowly, waiting for his vision to focus.

The ceiling is different, and he wonders where he is.

There’s the sound of rustling material beside him, and something crashes into him. He scoots away on reflex, heart dropping as his back suddenly finds air.

He’s falling–

_THUMP._

His hip hits the ground first, followed by his elbow and forearm. The pain shocks him to full awareness, and the tightness at the back of his neck reminds him that he’s still plugged in.

He reaches back and unplugs himself with a wince, sitting up and rubbing his sore spots. His eyes drift over the apartment, over the items spilling everywhere, and a slow awareness comes to him.

“Kawanishi?”

He looks back to the bed, at Yamagata yawning and unplugging himself. The older blinks at him a few times, a frown creasing his forehead. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“I fell.”

“Oh.” He yawns again, then scoots back until his back hits the wall. “Come back here. It’s too early to be awake.”

“It’s seven.”

(He complies.)

“Too early.” Yamagata waits till he has laid down again, then tugs him closer, resting his head on his shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

“But…”

“Did you want to do anything today?”

He thinks about it. “No. Not really.”

“Then sleep.” His stomach and side are suddenly warm with the body and arm pressed up against him, and he shifts until he’s sure he’s not going to fall off the bed.

“Are you sure–”

“Shh.”

So he is quiet.

In several moments, he hears soft snores arise, feels the gentle vibrations from where they are pressed against each other. He dares to peek, but he can barely see his face – it’s obscured by the hair falling across it.

He feels warm inside, but it’s not physical. It’s a tingling, jittery warmth, and he embraces the feeling, letting it tilt his lips up.

He’s felt this way before.

What is it?

(He can’t remember, can’t remember, but he can.)

(He sort of knows.)

(His heart hasn’t felt this warm in a long time.)

He gently sets a hand over the arm on his belly, and the contact gives him a thrill, as if he got away with something.

He presses his lips into a line, but the smile lingers. He shifts the arm trapped under the other man, winding it around his shoulders and holding him close.

(He tries to pretend that he didn’t make that funny sound – the one that slips out when he gets a warm bath or something comforting.)

(He tries to pretend that he isn’t content with this.)

\-----

He feels really hot when he wakes up.

He tries to move away, but something tightens around his waist, pulling him back.

“Don’t fall off the bed again.”

He blinks the lingering drowsiness away, slowly coming into awareness, twisting until he’s on his side, drawing his numb arm back towards himself.

The restraint around his waist releases, and he looks up, meeting an amused gaze. “Morning,” Yamagata grins, head on hand. “How are you?”

“Hot,” comes out before he’s had a chance to rethink it, and a laugh bursts out of his senior.

“Right,” he says, peeling the covers off of them, kicking them to the base of the bed. The cooler air is immediately evident, and he flips onto his stomach, sighing when heat dissipates off his back. His arm is still numb, and he stretches it out, clenching and unclenching his hand, feeling pinpricks spark along it.

Low chuckling makes him glance up, and the look in the other’s eyes takes him aback for a moment.

(He knows, knows, knows that look.)

“Anything in mind for the remainder of the day?”

He replies half a beat too late. “No?”

Yamagata shrugs and flops belly down, their elbows brushing. “Then let’s stay in bed.”

“And continue napping?” Kawanishi rests his head on his good arm, and the action makes him drowsy immediately. “That’s a good idea.”

“Naps are always good.”

“Mm.” He begins to drift off again.

“Kawanishi?”

It feels like he’s in a dream, and maybe he is. It takes too much effort to mumble a reply.

“Hm?”

“Would you still give up your emotions?”

His eyes flicker half-open, because he thinks it’s an important one to answer, but he’s so sleepy.

“Dunno.”

“Hey, you’re falling asleep on me.”

“G’night.”

He gives in to the call of his dreams, barely noticing the laugh and the warmth pressing against him again.

\-----

_Something strokes through his hair, and the light tugging of the strands is comfortable, soothing. He leans into the feeling, making a little noise in the back of his throat._

_The feeling stops for a moment, though he can still feel the pressure on the strands. “Did you just purr?”_

_He half opens one eye, sees nothing but blurriness, and closes it again._

_The person continues running his fingers through his hair, a bubble of laughter in his voice. “You did.”_

_He mumbles something incoherent, twisting closer, burying his face in warm fabric._

_A tiny murmur, little words dropped, perhaps not for him to hear, but simply a statement._

_He thinks he smiles, but it’s lost in the sea of fabric and the haze of a waking dream._

\-----

“Yamagata-san.”

“Yeah?”

“What you asked before… I think, no.”

“What are you talking about?”

A secret half-smile. “You’ll see.”

\-----

He’s back in the examination room, and he can see the pod just beyond the next door, waiting for him. He leans back, closing his eyes, relishing the sterile air.

“Kawanishi Taichi.”

His lids flicker open, and he sits upright to face Them fully. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“So I have heard.”

“But I’m still curious.”

“Do share.”

“Humans never managed to figure it out, the problem behind depression.” He words it carefully, finally admitting it to himself, finally facing his demons. “Of course, there are many factors involved, but the brain has always been fickle.”

“Indeed.”

“I know that the Programmers are a lot more advanced and intelligent than we are.” He looks at Them, where eyes would be if They had a human face. “Instead of blocking my emotions, I would offer myself as a subject for emotional measurement, so that the cause behind them can be found.”

They make a series of successive long whirs and clicks, and he almost feels like he is being laughed at. “What makes you think that we do not already do that?”

“You probably do,” he admits. “But you have mentioned before that I have one of the least regulated Programs. Any results shown would be slightly closer to a natural human state.”

“A state reflecting mental issues.”

“Yes.” He cannot flinch away now. “It would be interesting.”

They whir for a short moment, clicking intensely. “I do not disagree. Consensual experimentation would perhaps alter the results.”

He waits.

“I agree to this change in plans. But the electrodes prepared have not been altered for that purpose, so you must wait a little.”

He smiles. “I do not mind.”

They make Their laugh sound. “I enjoy your company immensely. You are an interesting human.” They turn to leave, appendages brushing by him, fluttering with good humour.

“We’ll make a good Programmer of you yet.”

\-----

The steam rising from the cup warms his nose, and he has to pull it away to sneeze. A chuckle escapes the one across him, and a knee knocks into his own. “Bless you.”

He smiles a little. “Thank you.”

Yamagata surveys him, chewing on the stirrer. “How is your smile so natural when your emotions are gone?”

(Is it? Natural? What was it like before, if not natural?)

He lets the smile grow wider, before hiding it in his cup. “Maybe because they’re not.”

It takes a long moment, several seconds of disbelieving staring – and he has to reach out, because he is crushing the cup. “You’ll burn yourself.”

The brunet glances down at the cup and its hot contents, carefully setting it down. “You still have your emotions?”

(He sounds conflicted.)

Kawanishi dips his head, sets his cup down. “I have them.”

Yamagata doesn’t look like he believes him for a moment, all wide eyes and open-mouthed, but when Kawanishi’s smile never fades, he reaches out with a shaky hand.

“Why would you keep them? I thought– I didn’t do enough to stop you–”

“You did enough.”

He meets him halfway, fingers catching, twining. He squeezes experimentally, feels a flutter in his heart when Yamagata’s grip tightens. He turns his face down, to hide his unexpected smile.

“But we did nothing…?”

“We talked.” He shrugs, but it was so much more than _just_ talking. It was comfortable. Lovely. Warming and sweet and trusting.

“And that was it? That’s all that convinced you to keep them?”

He sounds disbelieving, and honestly, Kawanishi can’t blame him.

“Maybe it wasn’t just the talk.” He lifts their joined hands, meeting his eyes over them. “Maybe it was just because it was you.”

(He feels stupid and cliché the moment the words leave his mouth.)

Yamagata stares at him, then promptly breaks into a fit of giggles. “I never took you for a sap.”

(Maybe he _is._ A sap, that is.)

“Or maybe, I’m just an idiot in love.”

“Oh? Who’s the lucky fellow?”

His eyes are dancing, and he could be teasing, _could be._

(He’s not risking it.)

“You?”

“Took you long enough.” Yamagata picks his cup up and sips from it, then offers it to him.

He must be wearing a weird look, because he rolls his eyes. “Ever heard of the indirect kiss?”

_Oh._

(There are always people watching.)

(But this, this moment is theirs.)

He wraps his free hand around the cup, over his fingers, steadying it as he sips from the same spot where his lips were earlier. The coffee is bitter and not at all to his liking, but he swallows dutifully, lowering the cup and their hands after.

(Now both their hands are intertwined, and it seems a bit much, to him.)

But Yamagata leans in and whispers, “I’m glad you kept your emotions,” and suddenly, it’s not a big deal at all.

\-----

“How are the newest test results?”

“As expected. Perhaps there can be a change made to the procedure to make it more comfortable for them.”

“What purpose would that serve?”

“Greater contentment means higher willingness to perform tasks, thus increasing output.”

A slow whir, then a flutter of appendages, gentle ruffling of his hair. “Very well. It will be considered.”

He hides a smile. “Thank you.”

“Your emotions seem to benefit us better than when you were without them.” They have moved on to the next experiment, and he follows.

“Perhaps a little.”

A double click from Them. “You may give yourself a little more credit. You are too modest, for a human.”

He bows briefly. “If you say so.”

They move on, and as he trails behind, he allows a full smile to tilt his lips up.

He still hates his emotions, but some days, they can be bearable.

(He thinks of coffee-coloured eyes, of twining fingers, of the light brush of lips over a hand.)

(His heart constricts, and he presses his lips together, biting back his stupid, giddy smile.)

Some days, his emotions are worth the trouble they bring.


End file.
